


The Logistics of Alliances

by cosmickat121



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Angst, Awkward Flirting, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mass Effect Kink Meme, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-29 22:46:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10863654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmickat121/pseuds/cosmickat121
Summary: A fill for the mass effect kink meme based on the following prompt: http://masseffectkink.livejournal.com/9940.html?thread=46423764#t46423764Andrea Stanton is a logistics analyst for the Initiative. As part of a joint project between Aya and the Nexus, she's assigned to Resistance HQ to aid the Initiative's effort of building and supplying a militia. Evfra wants no part of helping the Nexus build an army; Paaran Shie might have taken the decision out of his hands, but that doesn't mean he's willing to cooperate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm awful at catching my own mistakes, so apologies if I missed any.

“Absolutely not.”

 

Evfra punctuates his statement with a glare that would give even his most hardened fighters pause and folds his arms across his chest, considering the discussion closed.

 

Unfortunately, Governor Paaran Shie is no raw recruit. Beneath the placid exterior of a diplomat lies an iron core that Evfra has learned to respect, and sometimes even admire. He’s not too proud to admit he’s come to enjoy these verbal sparring matches of theirs, but that was before the governor went and lost all sense of reason.

 

Paaran mirrors his stance, her gaze never leaving his. “They are our allies,” she calmly points out.

 

The Resistance leader snorts at that. He needs no reminders; not when it’s become all but impossible to cross the market without bumping into one of these ‘allies’, and the silhouette of the Pathfinder’s ship darkens the sky nearly as often as his own shuttles.

 

And now Paaran would add more of them - to the very heart of the Resistance, no less - all in the name of _diplomacy_ . Where does it end? If she’s to have her way, he might as well just hand the aliens a _firaan_ now and wait for the blade to be buried in his back.

 

“And they can continue to be allies - from the Nexus!” It’s a tired argument, but one Evfra is willing to repeat as often as needed while this foolishness continues.

 

“They’ve more than proven themselves--”

 

“The _Pathfinder_ has proven herself,” Evfra is quick to correct, ignoring the vague wash of surprise that spreads through him when that admission doesn’t grate quite as much as it used to. “She is hardly the sole representative of her people, and you know as well as I that she is rarely in agreement with Initiative leadership.”

 

The governor’s lips twitch in what would be a grin on anyone with less poise, but he can hear the amusement in her voice, clear as the thrum of a _rivaan_ , when she says. “Then perhaps you’d better mark the occasion, Evfra, because on this, they are united. It was the Pathfinder that brought the idea to me.”

 

Opening his mouth to object, Evfra quickly snaps it shut, his lips compressed in a hard line as he studies the governor. Her victory is writ across her face, and why wouldn’t it be? She’s trapped him with his own words. Any argument now would only contradict his previous declaration of trust.

 

_Skkutting politicians…_

 

“I don’t like it,” he says at last.

 

“Do you ever?” Paaran asks lightly, no longer bothering to hide her smile. “Our guest arrives in two days. I trust you’ll make her welcome.”

 

Evfra grunts, but offers nothing further. He knows when to pull back from the fight, but that doesn’t mean he’s willing to admit defeat just yet. Two days gives him time to prepare, a chance to salvage what he can. He didn’t spend the last five years building the Resistance into what it is today just to hand over it’s secrets to a stranger.

 

Evfra leaves Paaran to show herself out, and the moment the door slides shut behind her, he stalks to his terminal and places a vidcall to the Tempest. He half expects to be kept waiting, but for once, Ryder must be on board. Within a few minutes, the call is connected and the human Pathfinder’s image flickers into view.

 

“Evfra,” Ryder greets. “Something I can do for you?”

 

He’s no expert in reading human expressions, and the grainy hologram doesn’t help, but Ryder is too calm for his call to have been unexpected. Evfra suspects she knows exactly what he wants to discuss and wastes no time in getting to it. “You can explain why you thought it was a good idea to turn Resistance Headquarters into a _skkutting tourist attraction_.”

 

Ryder sighs, running a hand through the odd strands - _hair_ \- at the top of her head. He’s seen the gesture before, and while he can’t be certain, it seems to indicate discomfort. A small victory, but in his current mood, he’ll take what he can get.

 

“It’s not like that, Evfra. It’s _one_ person. You probably won’t even notice she’s there...”

 

“That does not answer my question. _Why_ , Ryder? We already cater to your scientists, your engineers. Now I’m expected to allow you to infiltrate our military as well?”

 

“We want to _learn,_ not infiltrate _._ Look, if we had a military, I’d offer an exchange, same as everything else, but we don’t. That’s kind of the whole point of this.” The Pathfinder’s voice turns grim as she continues, “The Archon’s dead, but we both know the kett are still out there. They still have orders to exalt the cluster, and without the Archon’s obsession with remnant to distract them, that’s all they’ll be focused on.”

 

Humming a grudging agreement, Evfra dips his head in a nod. He can’t fault her assessment; he’s lost more sleep than he cares to admit over those same concerns. “You already have fighters,” he notes, arching a questioning brow. “What is it you hope to gain from this?”

 

“We have specialists,” Ryder corrects. “Strike teams. The rest are just people with guns. If the kett attack in force, our outposts are defenseless. We need a militia.”

 

“You’ve seen our training. I even allowed your second to record some of our sessions. It seems like those would serve you better than sending someone to Headquarters.”

 

“APEX has training and recruiting covered. It’s the details - supplying multiple worlds, coordinating defenses, communication lines - you know, all that boring shit you’re really good at.”

 

“Without that ‘boring shit’, your militia is doomed.”

 

“Exactly,” Ryder nods. “So that’s where your tourist comes in. She watches you for a while, takes some notes, and for once, maybe the Initiative gets something right the first time around.”

 

Crossing his arms, Evfra leans his hip against the edge of his desk, and sends the Pathfinder a doubtful look. “Logistics? That’s all your leaders are after?”

 

“That’s all. Look, after that crap with the Three Sabers, I wasn’t wild about the idea, either, but Kandros is in charge of this one. All reports from our analyst go directly to him.”

 

That...helps. He still isn’t happy with the idea of an unknown alien following him around, but he’s worked with Kandros enough to know the leader of APEX will honor an agreement once it’s been made. Ryder’s trust in the turian also goes a long way towards allaying Evfra’s concerns of information falling into the wrong hands, though he’ll never tell her so.

 

“Fine,” Evfra sighs. “Two stipulations. One: all reports come to me before being sent out. Any intel that threatens to endanger or compromise the Resistance _will_ be redacted.”

 

“Of course,” Ryder nods. “And the second?”

 

The second will be a headache to enforce, but Evfra wants the contingency in place, all the same.

 

“Consider this a trial. If I have concerns about your analyst, she won’t be allowed access to Headquarters. I don’t care what Paaran has to say about it.”

 

“Kind of thought that one was a given,” Ryder laughs. “But alright. Deal. I’ll let Kandros know.” The grin abruptly slips from the human's face as her expression sobers. “Thanks, Evfra. You’re doing us a favor.”

 

“Hmph.”

 

“I mean it,” she insists, but before things can get awkward, the Pathfinder adds a quick, “Ryder, out,” and the com goes dark.

 

Evfra stares at the empty space where the holo was in pensive silence before gathering himself with a sigh and turning his attention toward a stack of datapads on his desk. A favor, she called it. Undoubtedly true, and yet it remains to be seen whether his people will be the ones to pay the price.

  
  
  


********

  
  


Evfra spends the next two days briefing his most trusted lieutenants on their human “guest” and preparing headquarters for her arrival. The hours pass in a flurry of activity that leaves little room for sleep, and the lack is making itself known, both in the ache behind his eyes, and the shortness of his temper. By the time morning dawns on the second day, his men are close to drawing straws to see who gets stuck with the task of approaching him.

 

As they scurry to carry out their orders under his critical eye, Evfra almost pities them. They bear no responsibility for his black mood, nor should they suffer the brunt of it. He’s never been one for building rapport with his soldiers, but even he can admit his behavior is not only unprofessional, but bordering on unworthy. With a sigh that does nothing to relieve his mounting frustration, Evfra waves over the first person he sees, a communications officer by the name of Xaalen.

 

“Have the terminals been scrubbed?”

 

“Yes, Evfra. And all priority communications channels have been secured,” she adds without prompting, a note of pride in her voice. “Saw to that myself. Ajad is handling the encryption. Can’t say she won’t try looking, but the human isn’t going to stumble on anything sensitive.”

 

“Good. Notify me when it’s done.”

 

He watches her go, pressing the fingers of one hand against his temple in an effort to stifle the coming migraine. Troop numbers, encryption keys, the locations of safe houses and medical caches - all vital data that could spell disaster for the Resistance, and then the angara, if exploited. He’s taken every precaution he can think of, but the feeling of trepidation worming its way through his gut persists. Short of posting armed guards to bar her entry, there’s nothing more Evfra can do to protect his people from the alien Governor Shie insists on bringing in.

 

Perhaps it’s unfair; Ryder was allowed to enter as she pleased - with an AI of all things - but that wasn’t until _after_ she’d saved the Moshae, and she’d been open about SAM well before that. The rest of the Initiative has proven over and over they do not all share the Pathfinder’s integrity or competence, and there’s still the matter of their exiles. It’s all too easy for Evfra to imagine some _skkutter_ on Kadara selling out his people to the Kett…

 

No. Unfair or not, as long as this human is here, he’ll watch her every move.

 

In an effort to distract himself, Evfra moves to his terminal. He’s relieved to find no new casualty reports, but there are two emails waiting. The first is from the Nexus ambassador, an overly polite message asking if she can be of assistance or answer any questions about the analyst due to arrive. Evfra ignores it; he can tolerate Ryder’s honest bumbling far more than Rialla’s simpering. The second message, though, catches his eye. It’s a short note from Kandros acknowledging the stipulations he added, but what holds his interest is the personnel file attached for one Andrea Stanton. There’s only so much he can learn about someone from text, of course, but Evfra appreciates the gesture nonetheless.

 

Scanning the file brings both relief and a whole new set of concerns. She’s thirty-six, he notes with approval -  they aren’t sending over another girl barely out of her teens - and former military with an exemplary record. What troubles him is her background in military science. If Initiative claims of wanting peace are true, why send someone versed in war? Then again, the Kett _are_ a mutual threat and it makes no sense for Kandros to share this information if they’re making plans to attack the Angara. Unless…

 

With a low growl, Evfra closes the file. He’s just thinking in circles now, and empty speculation will get him nowhere. In a few short hours he’ll see for himself and make up his mind then.

  
  
  


**********

  
  
  


The shuttle lurches, causing Andrea to nearly drop one of the data pads in her lap. Excited whispers come from the pair of scientists on her left, a human and a salarian, and a three fingered hand waves toward the viewing panel in front of them. A fiery glow envelops the shuttle, signalling their entry into Aya’s atmosphere, and Andrea can’t help but return the scientists’ grins as orange light spills into the cabin. The Nexus has been abuzz with news of Aya since the human Pathfinder’s accidental discovery of the planet. Everyone’s seen the vids, of course, but they’re part of the privileged few that will have the chance to see it with their own eyes.

 

Andrea isn’t part of the science team, but she can appreciate beauty as much as the next person, and from what she’s seen of the planet in her briefing notes, Aya is a paradise. She briefly wonders if she’ll have time outside of her duties to explore the city for herself, but a chirp from her omni-tool interrupts her thoughts. A moment later, Kandros’ voice, distorted with static, is in her ear.

 

“Stanton. I take it you’ve arrived?”

 

Dipping her head in an automatic but unnecessary nod, Andrea confirms, “Landing now, sir.”

 

“Good. Listen, I got a call from Ryder and there’s been a slight change of plans. I’ll forward the amendment to make it official, but for now, just know that anything you send out goes through Commander de Tershaav first.”

 

“Sir? I was under the impression that this was a cooperative effort…”

 

There’s a dry chuckle from the turian, the natural flanging in his voice made tinny by the speaker of her ear piece. “And it is - emphasis on cooperation. Mainly, ours.”

 

Frowning, Andrea mulls over the unspoken implications. Her time in the Alliance has taught her that the politics of a situation often differ from the reality, but when she’d tried to voice her doubts, both Governor Shie and Ambassador Rialla had assured her that the Resistance had no objection to her assignment. Now, it seems those doubts were well founded.

 

“That’s going to make my job significantly more difficult,” she says at last.

 

An observation, nothing more. She hasn’t failed an assignment yet, and she’s not about to start now.

 

“That’s an understatement,” Kandros agrees. “But if I didn’t think you could do it, you wouldn’t be there. Officially, the Resistance is still at war with the Kett. We’re lucky the Angara are even entertaining the idea of an outsider in HQ. Consider this our way of returning that courtesy.”

 

“And the commander?”

 

“Do what you have to to get what we need. I don’t know Evfra well, but I’ll take the fact that he’s making demands as a good sign.”

 

“His way of negotiating?” Andrea asks with a small smile.

 

“I’m not sure _he’d_ call it that, but he’s direct about what he wants. I respect that.”

 

“Understood, sir.”

 

“Keep me informed, Stanton. Kandros, out.”

 

The comm goes silent, and Andrea closes her omni-tool, the slight rolling of her stomach indicating that their shuttle is landing. Any discomfort is forgotten, her breath catching in her throat as she gets her first glimpse of the Anagaran city that will be home for the next few months.

 

The vids didn’t do it justice.

 

Built into a steep cliff, the city sprawls farther than she can see. Walkways shrouded in the mists of half a dozen waterfalls wind through and around the rock, capped by blue and green canopies that remind her of conks along the trunk of a tree. Stories she heard in her childhood come to mind, tales of fairies and magic, and Andrea quickly pushes them aside. It’s beautiful, yes, but she’s not here to wax poetic with sentimental nonsense. There’s a job to be done, one that may not come with a catchy title like ‘Pathfinder’, but no less important. Their work means nothing if the Kett pick their outposts off one by one.

 

After a brief clearance check by security, an angara that introduces himself as Enroh Bosaan escorts them to the embassy for orientation. It’s a necessary detour, but one Andrea chafes at. Ambassador Rialla is pleasant enough as she instructs them on Aya’s expectations, but the asari makes it clear that relations are still fragile - in other words, _don’t screw this up._ Andrea can’t help but think that much of the ambassador’s attention is focused on _her_ during that little speech. It makes a certain amount of sense, given what she’s heard of Commander de Tershaav, but she doesn’t appreciate being singled out before she’s been given a chance. This Evfra sure sounds like a prickly bastard, but that’s hardly her fault.

 

About an hour later, Rialla forwards a copy of angaran law, all five thousand pages, to their omni-tools and sends them on their way. As Andrea goes to leave, the ambassador lays a hand on her arm.

 

“Ms. Stanton? Might I have a word?”

 

Barely restraining the urge to roll her eyes, Andrea forces a smile. “It’s just Andrea, please.”

 

“Of course,” the asari nods, folding her hands in front of her. “Andrea, I’ll be blunt with you; I’m afraid Governor Shie and I might have...overestimated the commander’s willingness to participate in this project.”

 

It takes all of her will to bite back a smile, but Andrea manages to quell the quirk of her mouth. She’s built a career on proving herself to hardasses and has the service record to show her confidence is more than empty arrogance. “I’ve been informed, ambassador. I’m aware I’ll need to gain his trust, and I’m willing to do whatever that takes.”

 

Rialla’s steady gaze conveys a doubt that has Andrea bristling, but the asari turns away before she can voice her displeasure, calling over her shoulder, “Then allow me to wish you luck... I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”

 

 _So be it_ , Andrea thinks as she exits the embassy.

 

She always did love a challenge.


	2. Chapter 2

To Andrea’s surprise, her escort to headquarters is none other than Paaran Shie, and she’s uncertain what to make of that. On the one hand, the governor has been nothing short of accommodating with this arrangement. On the other, a simple navpoint would have been sufficient - surely someone as important as Shie had better things to do than show her around. Andrea suspects the Angara’s presence has more to do with making a point than hospitality. The question is, to whom?

 

The two women exchange pleasantries as they walk, but it’s not long before Andrea falls silent, content to drink in the sights around her.

 

The bustle of Aya reminds her of the Citadel, now some six hundred years in her past, and she has to swallow at the sudden tightness of her throat as an unexpected wave of homesickness sweeps over her. Irritably blinking the sting from her eyes, the analyst pauses a moment, staring out at the horizon and pretending to be absorbed in the misty landscape below as she issues a sharp mental command to get ahold of herself.

 

The Milky Way is gone; she left nothing behind but a bitter ex-husband and she’d only been to the Citadel a handful of times. This empty ache of _loss_ makes no sense. Maybe it’s a residual effect of coming out of cryo, or maybe it’s the galactic equivalent of jet lag from the trip to Aya. Whatever it is, the feeling passes almost as quickly as it came. Andrea puts it from her mind, and offers an apologetic smile.

 

“I’m sorry, I... got distracted. Aya is lovely.”

 

“It is a gift,” the governor says, inclining her head in understanding. “I, too, was overwhelmed the first time I saw it.” Getting back to business, Shie gestures in front of her in invitation. “Shall we continue? The Resistance headquarters is not far from here.”

 

Perhaps because her presence has the obvious blessing of their leader, most of the Angara don’t bother to give her a second glance as the governor ushers her along the city’s winding pathways. There are a few curious stares and one vendor in the market that scowls at her as they walk by, but to the majority, she’s just another member of a species that lost its novelty months ago. It comes as a bit of a shock, then, when Andrea finds a guard they pass glaring at her in open hostility, the woman’s full lips twisted into an ugly snarl. A second guard posted a few feet away nods a greeting to the governor as Shie starts up the stairs, but ignores Andrea entirely. It’s not until she moves to follow that she hears his hissed warning.

 

“We’re watching you, human.”

 

_This_ must be headquarters, she realizes, and she hasn’t even made it through the door. If her reception so far is a sign of what’s to come, she’s even less welcome than she thought.

 

It’s...troubling. Caution is understandable, but this is not the sort of behavior she’d been expecting of allies. Not even the old turian she was once paired with had been so open in his dislike for her, and Anaeus’ contempt for humans had been well known. Rialla’s warning comes to mind, and Andrea wonders now if she should have taken the ambassador a bit more seriously. She can always send the asari a message, see if she has any advice, but the mere thought of doing so feels like defeat.

 

_You’re not here to make friends_ , she reminds herself sternly. _Just get what the Initiative needs and be on your way._

 

Andrea squares her shoulders and arranges her features into a polite smile she can’t resist aiming at the guard as she hurries by him and up the stairs. To her petty satisfaction, his eyes widen a moment - that was clearly not the response he’d been expecting - before he lets out a soft snort of disgust and goes back to ignoring her.

 

Her first look inside is nothing like she expected, and Andrea has to stop herself from gaping at how _pretty_ it is. It seems inappropriate to refer to a military command center in such a way, but it’s true.

 

Part architecture, part natural cavern, headquarters space is bright and open, the air perfumed by the same trees and plants that decorate the city. Enough sun streams in through the windows and open ceiling that there’s probably no need for artificial lighting during the day, and one of Aya’s massive waterfalls is close enough that she can hear the low roar of water and feel the faint vibration of it beneath her feet. Terminals and other devices Andrea can only guess the purpose of line the outer wall of the main room, each with an angara busily tapping away at keys or monitoring streams of data. Others hurry from one station to another exchanging data pads or fiddling with some gadget that looks vaguely similar to an omni-tool.

 

It’s… peaceful in a bizarre sort of way she can’t quite describe. While not as crowded, headquarters is every bit as hectic as the rest of the city, but there’s a familiar _order_ to it all that she finds almost comforting.

 

That is, until she notices just how many sets of eyes are on her. It seems as though every angara in the room has stopped what they’re doing to watch her woolgather, some mid motion, their hands still poised above their machines. Someone clears their throat, and Andrea’s face floods with heat when she sees Governor Shie waiting patiently near another door, her mouth quirked in amusement.

 

“I thought you might wish to introduce yourself to the commander.”

 

To her right comes a whispered, “Oh, Evfra’s going to _love_ that one,” followed by a cough that sounds suspiciously like muffled laughter. As far as first impressions go, Andrea has to admit this one went rather poorly. On the bright side, only her pride is injured. The only person here she cares about impressing is the one with the power to keep her from doing her job, and she’ll make sure there’s no woolgathering when she meets him.

 

Praying her cheeks aren’t as flushed as she fears they are, Andrea composes herself and nods. “Of course, Governor. Thank you.”

 

“This way.”

  
  
  
  


********

  
  
  


Xaalen’s face is grim as she hands him the latest intel report, and before Evfra can finish scrolling through the first page, he sees why: there’s been two more sightings of Kett scouting parties on Voeld. So far, it’s led to nothing more than minor skirmishes, but their attention seems to be centered on the defunct communications base. While not unexpected, the news is still hard to swallow, even if it will be some time before the Kett get their sabotaged equipment back online.

 

“Casualties?”

 

“Three,” Xaalen responds, though she’s quick to clarify, “wounded only, nothing serious.”

 

With an irritable flick of his wrist, Evfra tosses the datapad on his desk and keys a few commands into his terminal to bring up a holographic map of Voeld, lips thinning into a frown as he considers his options.

 

Ideally, the Resistance would have claimed the base for its own operations, but it's too remote to properly supply and defend. Destroying it may be the safer choice, however that means losing the advantage of gaining additional intel. Aside from the obvious goal of reestablishing their comm systems, the report from Voeld offered little insight into enemy plans. Evfra has no idea how many ships still remain hidden beyond the scourge. These scouting parties could be the remains of scattered ground forces attempting to regroup, or they could be part of a larger force that intends to push their way back in.

 

Neither is acceptable. Losing ground after the Resistance has all but reclaimed the planet would be a blow to morale they can’t afford.

 

“Increase patrols in the area, but tell Do Xeel not to engage unless necessary. Get a team to plant a surveillance device, if they can, and add supply caches here and here,” Evfra adds, tapping the map to highlight two points near the comm center.  “I want eyes on that base, but under no circumstances do we allow the Kett to restore communications.”

 

Busy typing his orders, Xaalen nods without looking up from her datapad. She turns to go and stops short as the door opens and Paaran Shie steps through, a human woman following close behind.

 

“The human is here.”

 

“I can see that,” Evfra snaps. “And you have more important things to do than stand there and state the obvious.”

 

Xaalen’s gaze falls from studying the human to the floor, an embarrassed flush creeping from her neck to the arch of her cheekbones. “I - Yes, Evfra. Right away.”

 

Only after Xaalen leaves does Evfra turn his attention to Paaran, noting with annoyance that the governor looks far too pleased with herself.

 

“Evfra, this is Andrea Stanton, Logistics Analyst for the Initiative.”

 

Once again, someone feels the need to explain the obvious, as though he would be foolish enough to forgo learning the identity of the alien imposed on him. He makes a noise in the back of his throat that Paaran can interpret as she will and passes a sweeping glance over the human.

 

Dressed in Initiative colors and tall for a woman of her species, her hair is the same rich earth color as Ryder’s and pulled back in some kind of knot atop her head. Mistaking his indifference for invitation, she turns startling green eyes his way and raises her right hand. For a moment, Evfra thinks she’s going to try to engage him in the awkward greeting humans call a handshake, but instead, she flattens her hand, bringing it to rest near her eye, and then drops her arm back at her side in one smooth motion. The gesture clearly has some significance to her, but he has no time to puzzle over the purpose of it.

 

“Thank you for this opportunity, Commander.”

 

_Stars_ , not more simpering…

 

“You owe your thanks to Governor Shie,” Evfra remarks dryly. The human might as well know upfront that he had nothing to do with this mess. “And perhaps your Pathfinder.”

 

Before she can respond, Paaran cuts in, expertly wresting control of the conversation back into her diplomatic hands. “We’re grateful to have allies in our fight against the Kett, and stronger for it. We’ll make whatever accommodations we can to assist your work, _won’t we Evfra_?”

 

Evfra only glares at her. Paaran governs Aya, and outside these walls, she can do as she pleases. But _he_ leads the Resistance, politics be damned.

 

The human wisely stays silent, eyes focused on some distant point in front of her until the governor lays a hand on her shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

With a pointed look in his direction, Paaran takes her leave, and Evfra is left alone with the alien. As if on cue, the alien drops her polite facade and he finds the full intensity of her bright gaze centered on him.

 

“You don’t want me here.”

 

Her words are flat, direct. Evfra can appreciate that much, and he responds in kind.

 

“I don’t.”

 

Her expression never changes as she dips her head in a brusque nod. “Then let me get to work. The sooner I have what I need, the sooner I’m out of your way.”

 

“And just what does your work entail? I’m familiar enough with your history to know war is not a new concept among your people. If your Nexus is to be believed, you practically revel in it.”

 

The analyst frowns at that, but she doesn’t bother to deny the accusation. “Many of those that joined the Initiative were looking to get away from that.” Those strange eyes narrow at his incredulous snort, but she continues as though she didn’t hear him, “The Kett are still an unknown. _Heleus_ is an unknown. Yes, we’ve waged war in our past, but this is something else entirely. We’re unprepared.”

 

He’s heard all of this before in an earlier conversation with Ryder and yet Evfra still can’t comprehend the sheer audacity of the Milky Way species. Did they really travel two million light years away and expect a foreign galaxy to simply bend to their whims? Or were they just so blindly optimistic that they didn’t foresee conflict? He honestly can’t decide which is worse.

 

“The Kett aren’t a conventional enemy”, he repeats, with far more patience than the situation warrants. “You won’t defeat them by conventional methods.”

 

Shaking her head, the human raises a dismissive hand. “I’m not here to discuss tactics. My job is to research your infrastructure and the day-to-day activities that keep the Resistance running in the hope that we can model your success.”

 

Anger settles in the pit of his stomach, cold and sharp as a shard of ice as his lips curl back in a snarl.  The arrogance of these aliens truly knows no bounds. “Our _success_ was won by the blood of my people. Is your Initiative prepared to _model_ their sacrifice?”

 

She swallows, her face paling a full shade lighter than her normal tawny complexion, but her voice carries no hint of a waver and her eyes never leave his as she says, “If we must.” The human pauses long enough to draw in a slow breath and release it through pursed lips before continuing. “Commander, I meant no offense, nor was it my intent to make light of what the Angara have endured. The simple truth is that the survival of the Initiative may well depend on what we learn here. Anything you’re willing to share has my full attention.”

 

Pretty words, but only action can prove them true or false, and Evfra hasn’t seen enough to judge one way or the other. Still, he’ll credit where it’s due. She didn’t shy away from his anger and she appears to have some idea of what’s at stake for her people. Already a step up from some of the aliens he’s had to deal with.

 

“How do you expect to begin this...project?”

 

“By conducting an analysis of your facility. It would give us a better idea of how to structure our own militia.”

 

“Ten minutes in and you assume you’ll be allowed free access to headquarters,” Evfra scoffs.

 

“Of course not. I assumed I’d have an escort.” There’s a quick quirk of her lips, but it’s gone before he can be sure it was really there. “Who’s better suited than the commander to keep an eye on the outsider?”

 

Stars above, the woman is vexing. Evfra wants to snap that she should speak to Avela if she’s looking for a guided tour, but there’s nothing demanding his attention at present and he doesn’t need her whining to Paaran like that Salarian botanist.

 

“Fine.”

 

She does smile at that, wide enough to bring out the fine lines at the corners of her eyes. Her hand crosses to the opposite wrist, and an orange glow bathes her face as the interface of that device all the aliens seem to come equipped with flares to life.

 

Not even Ryder was so bold.

 

“No scanners,” he warns, crossing his arms in finality. “Leave it, or you don’t leave this room.”

 

“I’m not _scanning_ anything,” she protests. “How am I supposed to take notes without my omni-tool?”

 

Evfra offers an unconcerned shrug. That’s not his problem. “I suggest you pay attention.”

 

A muscle jumps near her jaw as the human stares at him with narrowed eyes. A minute passes, then another, before she finally unsnaps the device from her wrist. “Fine,” she relents, holding the tool out to him.

 

“Come with me.”

 

She mutters something his translator doesn’t catch but is quick to fall into step behind him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

It’s been several days in headquarters and Andrea has yet to send Kandros her preliminary report. It, along with her notes, typed from memory after Evfra allowed her to tour headquarters, are currently sitting on his desk awaiting review. ‘Low priority’, he’d said, in that sneering tone that indicated he’d sooner read a memo announcing the flavor of paste served in the  _ Tavataan _ . That was three days ago, and Andrea is losing patience. Kandros hasn’t given her any deadlines, but she prides herself in promptness and efficiency. The commander is making both impossible. 

 

She’s supposed to be working on a way to win his trust, but Evfra’s given her little opportunity. As long as she follows the inane list of rules he’s imposed - and she has, to a letter - he seems content to ignore her. 

 

When he’s not watching her like she’s about to start carting equipment out the front door, that is. How he manages that level of scrutiny while maintaining such haughty indifference, she’ll never know.  

 

Tapping her finger against a blank datapad, Andrea casts a speculative look toward the man in question from her tiny workstation. It’s not like there’s much else for her to do at the moment, and despite the surliness of its leader, she finds the Resistance fascinating. 

 

A small, silent voice chides that the subject of her fascination is nowhere near as broad as she’d like to pretend, but Andrea ignores it in favor of watching as Evfra confers with one of his officers. Arms folded across his broad chest, the commander nods at something the other angara says as both men stare intently at the scrolling readout of a large monitor. She can’t make out anything intelligible past the low rumble of their voices, but Andrea can hear the clipped cadence of Evfra’s gruff replies. 

 

The commander is stern; cold, but with an intensity that blazes too brightly for her to believe he is as apathetic as his frigid demeanor suggests. Evfra’s hard scowl never seems to slip, not even in the company of his most trusted lieutenants, but Andrea got a glimpse of the passion it hides when she so carelessly offended him scant moments into their introduction. Not at all how she’d hoped their first meeting would go, but it did provide a flash of insight into a man that’s proving almost impossible to read.

 

With so much idle time, Evfra’s become something of a puzzle, one that’s captured more of her attention than it ought to, but then, that’s her forte: studying the pieces, learning how each fits together to make up the whole. It’s what she  _ should  _ be doing with the Resistance, instead of musing over its leader, but perhaps gaining a better understanding of  _ him  _ is the first step toward the rest. 

 

It would certainly be no hardship, Andrea admits, sweeping an appreciative gaze over the broad expanse of Evfra’s back. Alien as he is, there’s no denying the commander is easy on the eyes, and no harm in taking a few moments to appreciate the view.  It’s only fair, as often as she finds his eyes on her. She’s not so unprofessional as to let her gaze linger past the point of decorum, and there might as well be  _ some  _ benefit to this exchange. 

 

As if signalled by her thoughts, Evfra looks back at her over his shoulder, mouth pulling tight when Andrea returns his stare with a flat one of her own and waggles her fingers in a little wave. 

 

_ Still here. Still waiting to make my report. _

 

Antagonizing him isn’t her best idea, nor is it entirely her intent, but anything that might prompt him into action - even if it’s just to hurry things along and get her out of his metaphorical hair - deserves a fair trial. 

 

A bemused crease forms between his heavy brows before Evfra resumes his customary frown and turns his back to her. Muffling a snort of wry amusement behind her hand, Andrea shakes her head. A mild flush of shame heats her cheeks. These games are beneath her, but she’s never handled idleness well, and boredom is creeping in like a restless itch. 

 

Andrea gets to her feet and tosses her omni-tool on the table. Despite some wary looks, Evfra hasn’t actually restricted access to HQ, and putting some distance between them seems like a fine idea, though all she’s likely to gain from it is a bit of exercise and a chance to clear her mind.

 

The commander’s attention is back on her before she even makes it from behind her table and Andrea raises her empty hands, turning her left so he can see her bare wrist. Datapads haven’t been expressly forbidden, but she leaves those behind, too, as a gesture of good faith. Those glacial eyes never leave her, but he remains silent, so Andrea heads through the door.

 

It’s not the first time she’s been in the rest of HQ without Evfra acting as chaperone, but she knows better now than to think of this small freedom as any sign of progress. Silence follows her through the open halls like an invisible wave as one angara after another catches sight of her and suddenly becomes absorbed in their work, dropping their eyes to their terminals and ending their quiet chatter with an abrupt press of their lips. A few suspicious looks are turned her way, but most of the angara simply ignore her. 

 

Whether they are acting on orders or of their own volition hardly matters; the result is the same, and the message is clear: she’ll need to bring any questions about operations to Evfra. 

 

Taking a deep breath, Andrea holds it, counting the slow beats of her heart until the frustrated groan building in her throat ebbs into a quiet sigh. 

 

_ You knew this would be difficult.  _

 

The silent reminder has become something of a mantra for her, repeated whenever her irritation rises sharply enough to threaten her hold on her tongue. She has a feeling Evfra is just looking for an excuse to throw her out of here, and she’ll be damned before she just hands him one by giving into her annoyance. 

 

Andrea turns her gaze to the waterfall outside the the south of the building, her feet unconsciously carrying her closer. The fall is close enough that the mist and spray from it render her view a bright wash of white, but she finds the steady vibration of it soothing. Her ears filled with the dull roar of cascading water, Andrea closes her eyes, and her mind takes her back to late shifts on the  _ Pristina _ , the murmuring voices of the night crew, the comforting drone of the drive core. For a few brief seconds, she can see her tiny office again, can almost smell the tang of metal and polymers and the faint mustiness of the cruiser’s recycled air. 

 

The moment passes all too soon, leaving her chest tight and her stomach feeling hollow. Her vision is watery and distorted when she opens her eyes. Andrea blinks until she can see clearly, blaming the harsh brilliance of Aya’s sunlight for her discomfort. The  _ Pristina  _ was probably decomissioned centuries ago; not even scrap would remain by now. 

 

That thought does nothing to lessen the ache in her heart, though she’s genuinely puzzled it should be there at all. She had a year of forced leave to come to terms with the loss of her position, and that was before she’d ever heard of the Initiative. Once she’d met Jien Garson, a woman who was far more appreciative of her drive than the Alliance had ever been, Andrea hadn’t looked back.There’d been too much to do.

 

Much like now. It wasn’t the same as the preparations needed for a journey that spanned galaxies, but she still had more than enough on her plate to keep her occupied. Standing here, wasting time mourning ancient history when she should be focused on the present, was silly and unprofessional.

 

Mental pep talk over, Andrea passes a weary hand over her eyes, determined to get back to it. She turns away from the window to return to her station and almost bumps into a passing angara. The apology forming on her tongue never makes it past her lips once she catches sight of the man’s face. He’s staring at her with a coldness that would rival Evfra’s, luminous eyes glittering with animosity.

 

“You don’t belong here,  _ vesagara _ .”

 

The words are a low growl delivered with such threat that Andrea’s hand drifts to her hip, seeking the reassurance of a sidearm she hasn’t carried in ages. Rattled, but refusing to give the angara the satisfaction of seeing it, she tilts her chin just enough to meet his eyes and stares back in silent defiance until he turns away with a snarl, the mauve skin of his cheeks flushed an angry purple. 

 

Alone again, Andrea lets out a little sigh as the first hint of doubt begins to creep over her.  

 

_ ‘You don’t belong here.’ _

 

For the first time since she walked off of the Hyperion, Andrea wonders if he’s right.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

It’s getting late, and the sun’s steady descent beneath the horizon has painted headquarters in fiery hues of orange and red. The waterfall outside glimmers like molten metal; a beautiful sight, but not one Evfra has the time to take in. There are a dozen messages waiting for him at his terminal, though nothing urgent - those get patched directly to him - and he takes a few minutes to browse before calling it a night.

 

Most are just updates on their various camps on Voeld, supply requests and requisition orders that can wait until morning. There is one troubling report from Do Xeel about a recon party that failed to make contact when expected, but it’s too soon to decide a course of action. Voeld is a harsh environment and it’s relatively common for a team to go dark. The answer could be as simple as a pop-up storm that knocked out communications, or it could be a sign of something far more ominous. For now, Evfra decides to monitor the situation. If Do Xeel still hasn’t heard anything in three days, they can discuss their options. 

 

He is about to shut down the terminal so he can fall into the nearest cot for some much needed sleep when the machine chimes its notification for a new message. Olvek this time. Evfra thinks of his injured fighters down in the infirmary, wondering if he’ll need that cot after all.  Despite his looming dread at the prospect of finding more names to haunt his dreams, he opens the email without hesitation. 

 

It’s war; they fight, they die, and the survivors press on. 

 

He knows this, has lived and breathed it for over a decade, but that doesn’t stop his quiet exhale of relief when he begins to read. Good news, for once. The email isn’t about the fighters at all, but a report on Ljeta, the woman robbed and left for dead on Elaaden. According to Olvek’s report, she’s fully recovered from her wounds and cleared to begin training. 

 

Evfra absently scratches at the long scar that runs down the side of his face and considers the news. Her physical injuries might have healed, but not all trauma is visible to the eye. It may be some time before Ljeta is ready for the field, even after she’s fully trained. Still, he should start giving thought to the matter now. 

 

That she’ll be an asset to the Resistance, Evfra has no doubt. They need survivors, and that kind of fighting spirit is in short supply. The question is where would her varied skills be put to best use?

 

Her contacts on Kadara and Elaaden could prove valuable for recon, but the commander quickly discards the idea. Though she’s made some progress toward accepting their presence, Ljeta still holds too much hatred for the Milky Way aliens to be expected to work with them. Understandable, considering that they were the ones who attacked her, but the last thing Evfra wants is to send her running to what remains of the Roekaar. Besides, he’s not cruel, no matter what the recruits whisper in the barracks, and there are other possibilities to explore. 

 

Ljeta had her own shuttle before it was stolen from her, and a skilled pilot is always a welcome addition. She also has experience working on her own in less hospitable environments - knowledge that could be invaluable to a scout, provided she can handle solitude after her ordeal. 

 

Evfra shakes his head and closes down the terminal. It’s not a decision he can make tonight. He still needs to see evaluate and talk to her about where she sees herself, but of one thing, he’s certain: Ljeta has a place with them as long as she wants it. 

 

Just as he’s preparing to leave, the door opens with an unexpected hiss. Evfra looks up to find the human gazing back at him, wide green eyes almost black in the dim artificial light. She’d left hours ago, earlier than normal, but at the time, he’d paid her abrupt departure little mind. If she wasn’t in headquarters, she wasn’t  _ his  _ problem and he could devote his full attention to more important matters. He has no idea what prompted the human’s return and per usual, she seems content to waste his time with meaningless formalities instead of just explaining herself.

 

“Commander. I apologize for the late hour, but I was hoping to catch you before you left.”

 

_ Why  _ must she do this? What is it that her species finds so distasteful about just getting to the  _ point _ ?

 

“You have,” Evfra grits, barely stopping himself from sighing the words. “And? What do you want?”

 

He can’t remember the last time he ate, and the floor is looking more and more like an appropriate place to sleep the longer he stands. 

 

“The same thing I wanted three days ago,” she replies, a noticeable edge to her voice. “To file my preliminary report so I can get on with my assignment.”

 

This time, Evfra can’t hold back his exasperated sigh. Surely she can see that there are other matters far more urgent that require his attention? Still, he can hardly fault her for abiding by the restrictions  _ he  _ put in place. The human has been remarkably patient, all things considered. He’d half expected her to contact her superiors without waiting for his review - he knows there are ways to skirt his request if she truly had a mind to. He can’t watch her every second of the day, and there are terminals in the commons area where she and the rest of her people stay during their visit. 

Of course, that doesn’t rule out the possibility of her trying something later, or of her leadership abusing the information they gain. But for now, it says something about her character that she’s willing to respect his wishes. 

 

After a long silence, Evfra nods. “You’ll have it tomorrow.”

 

She’s waited this long, she can wait a few more hours.

 

“Thank you, Commander.” 

 

The human raises her arm in that odd slicing motion she’s fond of and spins on her heel, striding toward the door. Midway, she pauses and turns back around, peering up at him. 

 

“What  _ now _ ?” Evfra growls, patience at an end. 

 

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips as she hesitates a moment. “ _ Vesagara _ , What does it mean?”

 

She stumbles a bit over the foreign syllables, and her accent is atrocious, but Evfra has no trouble understanding. 

 

“Where did you hear that?” he demands with narrowed eyes.

 

“Does it matter?”

 

It does, but Evfra doesn’t have the patience or inclination to explain why. The Roekaar are fond of tossing around that particular slur, and if there are sympathizers on Aya, he wants to know, especially if they’ve made their way into the Resistance. No matter his personal opinion, Aya has an alliance with the aliens, and he gave his word allowing the human here. He, and by extension, the Resistance, will damn well honor both as long as the Initiative holds to their end. 

 

The last thing his people need is some hot-blooded fool with a grudge starting another war. 

 

“Where?” Evfra repeats. 

 

Sighing, the human rubs a finger along the bridge of her nose. “Fine. If you don’t want to tell me, I’ll ask someone else.”

 

Someone like Paraan, perhaps, and then he’ll just be right back where he is now. 

 

“It’s an insult,” he grudgingly supplies. 

 

The human arches a brow and says dryly, “Yes. I gathered as much from context.”

 

Oh, but this woman is infuriating...

 

“One who’s been uprooted. Exiled.”

 

Her mouth tips into a puzzled frown, but she only nods. “I see.”

 

Clearly she doesn’t, but before he can press her on it, she dips her head into another nod. “Thank you. Goodnight, Commander.”

 

Evfra frowns at the human’s back as she leaves. He’s convinced the insult was directed at her personally, both because of her comment about context, and her unwillingness to name the one that said it. He’ll have to watch her even more closely now. What’s simply a word to her may well escalate to more if a Roekaar or one who shares their ideals is involved. Muttering a tired curse, the commander stalks from the room. 

 

He’d warned Paraan the human would be nothing but trouble. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I want to apologize for the long delay. I don't have any excuse but that shit hit the proverbial fan. I can't promise that updates won't be slow, but if I have any readers left for this, I want to assure you this fic has not been abandoned! I just have a lot on my plate right now and I'm getting to things as I can.

 

Gaze unfocused, Evfra stares out over Aya, his troubled mind barely registering the landscape below. The Kett have been quiet of late, and a war that has raged longer than many of his people have been alive has lapsed into nothing more than the odd skirmish. 

 

As the lull in fighting continues to drag on, some of the Angara are beginning to wonder if it might finally be over. No one dares to say it aloud, of course, and Evfra does everything in his power to discourage such foolish rumors from spreading, but he still hears the occasional whisper. He’d love nothing more than to see that tentative hope blossom, but his gut tells him all they’ve won is time, that this is simply the calm before the next wave of storms.

 

Unfortunately, their recent intel offers little to support his conviction. 

 

Evfra still receives reports of the enemy from Voeld, but they’re rarely sighted in numbers great enough to justify pursuit. There’s been no further attempts on the Kett comm station since he increased Resistance patrols in the area, and even the missing scouts proved to be nothing more sinister than an equipment failure when they staggered back to the base just days after going dark, cold and exhausted, but unharmed. 

 

Good news all around. More than they’ve had in as long as Evfra’s been in charge, and maybe that’s why it doesn’t sit well with him. It’s not that he’s ungrateful - far from it - but it does lend credence to the ridiculous notion that the war is drawing to a close, all at a time they can least afford complacency.

 

A quick look at Resistance numbers only confirms Evfra’s fears. While recruitment is still at an all time high, so are the numbers of those requesting to  _ leave. _ He can’t blame them, really. The Resistance has always been voluntary, and many have families to get back to, parents, spouses, and children they haven’t seen for months or even years. 

 

_ If I had the same…. _

 

The thought is as unwelcome as it always is, but ghosts are stubborn things, not so easily brushed aside. They clutch at him like  _ gosaarif  _ cling to their rocky spires. It takes little effort to summon their faces, and it’s both a blessing and a curse that every detail is as fresh as the last time he saw them. One in particular peers back at him from the hidden depths of his mind, eyes clear and blue as the oceans locked beneath Voeld’s ice.

 

A familiar ache builds in his chest, and Evfra’s fingers tighten around his forgotten datapad until the thin plastic creaks in protest. Forcing a slow, even breath, the Resistance leader deliberately relaxes his grip on the tablet, biting back the urge to fling it into the nearest wall. 

 

_ Nothing good ever came from picking at old wounds. _

 

The faint echo of laughter rings through his head, and he can see the gentle, teasing smile that would accompany it, so close he can almost reach out and run his thumb along that wide mouth once again. The ache sharpens into a longing so keen it takes his breath away and Evfra has to remind himself that none of it is real and all of them are gone. As if to prove his point, a forced cough comes from behind him, and the memory dissipates, wisps of fog in the morning sun. 

 

Thankful for the distraction, Evfra is vaguely surprised to find that his gratitude is undiminished when he turns around to see the human looking up at him. Though her alien features are as inscrutable as ever, there’s a softness to them he’s never noticed before. A trick of the light; it must be because it cools to her customary propriety the moment his eyes meet hers.

 

In an attempt to ground his still reeling thoughts, Evfra speaks first. Avoiding the human’s awkward greeting is just a side benefit. 

 

“What do you need?”

 

“I have some questions.” She hesitates just long enough to draw a breath and adds, “If you aren’t busy, of course.”

 

Mustering a scowl, Evfra sighs. She can see he isn’t, or why else would she be here asking? The human is nothing if not observant - perhaps too much so, considering his lapse into the past. He studies her face, searching for some clue she might have seen more than he intended but she returns his scrutiny with an impenetrable mask of passivity. Another moment goes by before he crosses his arms and nods his consent. 

 

Evfra waves her to his desk and spends the next hour answering questions while the human taps at her omni-tool, her many fingers gliding with ease over the glowing interface. There are certainly better uses for his time, but he can hardly complain when it gives him another means to control what sort of information gets back to the Nexus. It’s not as unpleasant as he would have thought, either. Though Evfra will never admit it, part of him enjoys talking about the Resistance - not what it was, but what it is now. What he  _ made  _ it. 

 

There’s much he doesn’t say, of course, particularly when the analyst’s questions venture toward more personal topics. She’s not as blunt about it as Ryder had been, but the shift from the Resistance to Evfra himself is just as obvious. He’s no more willing to indulge her than he is anyone else.

 

“I agreed to share logistics information,” Evfra bites out in warning. “Not to sate your curiosity about my background.”

 

To his surprise, the human has the grace to look abashed. She ducks her head, cheeks flushing a deep pink and mumbles an apology. Evfra thinks their discussion is over, but instead of excusing herself, the human purses her lips and casts a thoughtful glance toward her datapad. Though her face is still reddened, it seems her embarrassment is all but forgotten as she taps a finger against the screen. 

 

“You said the Resistance operates in cells. It makes sense, considering the high risk of capture, but supplying everyone must be a nightmare.”

 

There are a few things Evfra could teach her about  _ nightmares _ , but he lets the tactless comment go. Humans tend to treat words more like toys than tools, playing with meanings when it suits their purpose. It’s a wonder they can understand each other at all when their languages are so unreliable. 

 

Though he’s not familiar with this particular idiom, her meaning is clear, and Evfra lets out a grunt of assent. “Keeping the supply caches stocked can be a challenge, but they’re mostly for emergencies. We try to keep operations as close as possible to our bases, and the Angara have learned to travel light.”

 

He doesn’t add that supplies are often scavenged from the fallen - enemy and comrade alike. While it may seem distasteful to go picking through a friend’s pockets before their corpse has even grown cold, the simple truth is that it’s necessary. The dead don’t care, and letting supplies go to waste could mean another body on the ground.  

 

A puzzled frown forms between the human’s feathery brows. “Caches?” she echoes softly, as though speaking to herself. “That seems...risky. Too easy to sabotage, or lay an ambush.”

 

Evfra bristles, both at the human’s ignorant criticism, and the barb of truth in her casual assessment. Despite frequently changing the cache sites, wounded Resistance teams were as likely to find Kett waiting for them as they were medical supplies. 

 

Prompted by the stinging blow to his pride, Evfra growls, “What do you propose as an alternative?” 

 

The question is flippant; he isn’t expecting a credible answer, but she’s purported to be something of an expert in warfare among her people. If she can offer a viable solution, he’s not going to let his ego stop him from taking measures to protect his people.

 

Oblivious to the edge in his voice, the human drops her gaze to her datapad, scanning the glowing text until she finds what she’s looking for. “Director Tann gave the Resistance access codes to Initiative forward stations, but the logs show your forces aren’t making use of them. For the sake of efficiency, I’d suggest --”

 

Incredulous anger blooms in his chest at the human’s audacity to offer advice on a subject she has once more shown she knows nothing about.

 

“Efficiency?” Evfra interrupts with a scowl.  “What’s  _ efficient  _ about arming your enemy? Your stations glow like   _ skkutting  _ beacons and you leave them outside our bases, for us to defend. It’s that, or risk the Kett using  _ your  _ weapons against us.” 

 

At his scathing tone, something flashes across her face, but before he can determine exactly what it is, the human takes a deep breath and it’s gone. When she speaks again, it’s in the cool, even inflection of feigned diplomacy. “I wasn’t aware of that.”

 

“Of course you weren’t,” Evfra scoffs in mock agreement. “Ignorance seems to be a defining trait of the Initiative.”

 

Her eyes glitter like the ice on Voeld, and this time, Evfra has no trouble naming the emotion brimming in their depths. He’s offended her, and not even the thought of dealing with Shie or that vapid ambassador can quell the little surge of satisfaction that rises in him at watching the human’s mask of polite indifference slip. Despite the heated nature of their argument, he almost prefers her like this, with all pretense gone. There’s an openness to her features now, an honesty in her anger that was missing in their previous interactions. He can read her like this, nearly as well as one of his own people.

Slapping her datapad on his desk with enough force to turn a few heads their way, the human gets to her feet, towering over him, for once, as her words rush out in a low hiss. 

 

“I’ll admit we’ve made mistakes, but no one expected to wake up to a fucking ground war! You have no idea what we’ve been through - what we left behind!”

 

As furious as he is with her assumption that the Angara can’t understand the loss of family or home, as badly as he wants to point out that the people of the Initiative  _ chose  _ their fate, Evfra swallows the retort building on his tongue. Because he  _ does  _ understand, all too well. If the war with the Kett has taught the Angara anything, it’s grief. That same sorrow he sees mirrored in the human’s alien features. 

 

It’s in the way her nostrils flare with each sharp inhale, the tremor in her clenched fists, how she can’t quite set her jaw hard enough to keep the slight quaver from her voice. Another taunt about her people’s arrogance, no matter how true, would only wound. He may not like her, but he’s not cruel enough to want to  _ hurt  _ her. 

 

Dropping his gaze to give her time to compose herself, Evfra flicks on his terminal. “I have work to do.”

 

She jerks a nod and utters a cold “Commander”, and then she’s gone. It’s not until later, when the light is beginning to fade, and he’s preparing to leave for the day, that Evfra notices she left her datapad on his desk. 

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  


A full two days had passed since the argument with the Resistance leader, every minute spent waiting for the call from Kandros ordering her back to the Nexus. Oddly enough, that call never came, and, by now, Andrea has to admit it probably isn’t going to. Evfra doesn’t strike her as the type to sit on his hands about something; if he wanted her gone, she’d be on the next shuttle out. What she can’t figure out is  _ why _ . He doesn’t want her there; he made that much clear the first day. So why would he pass the perfect opportunity to send her on her way, or at the very least, complain to her superiors? She’s almost curious enough to ask him herself, but that would require she return to Headquarters and that’s not something she’s ready to do. 

 

_ Pretentious blue bastard. _

 

Hardly professional of her, but she can’t bring herself to care. After her conduct during their last encounter, it’s not as if Evfra could think any less of her. 

  
  


Feeling her cheeks heat at the memory, Andrea sighs and scrubs a weary hand over her eyes. She’d been warned about Evfra, and even if she hadn’t, he’d made no secret of his opinion regarding her and the Initiative in general. That hadn’t mattered then, and it doesn’t matter now. Considering all she’s learned of the Angara, all she’s  _ still  _ learning, she can’t really blame his stance or say she’d be any different if several unknown species just arrived on her doorstep. She hadn’t done the initiative any favors by allowing herself to be caught off guard about the forward stations, but even that isn’t what’s really bothering her. It’s the fear that he’s  _ right _ .

 

How could they have been so unprepared? 

 

The science used to locate their supposed golden worlds was new; cutting edge quantum physics that made Andrea’s head ache, but there’d been plenty of people with sharper minds than hers, all working on the same thing. And they’d all been  _ wrong _ .  The collective intelligence of the Milky Way’s best and brightest, and the only thing that had gone according to plan was arriving in the Andromeda Galaxy, relatively on schedule. They’ve made mistakes, allowed their egos to prevail over common sense - the rebellion was proof of that. Now, she can’t help but feel that they’re about to do the same thing all over again. 

 

Rubbing a weary hand over her eyes, Andrea pulls up the interface to her omni-tool and places a call to Kandros, waiting patiently as it connects. Five minutes later, the turian’s face flickers into view. 

 

“Stanton. How’s progress?”

 

“Slow, Sir,” Andrea admits, holding back a tired sigh. “But I’m getting there.” She’s not sure how true the last part of her statement is, but the fact that they aren’t having a different version of this conversation in person has to be a good sign.

 

“Understood,” Kandros says with a nod. “What can I do for you?”

 

“A matter I wanted to bring to your attention, Sir. Commander de Tershaav has informed me that the Kett have been targeting our forward stations. Unsuccessfully so far, thanks to Resistance intervention, but with Angaran forces already spread thin…”

 

Kandros sighs, his mandibles flicking in a display of what Andrea can only guess is irritation. “They don’t need to clean up our mess,” he finishes. “Technically, the stations are part of colonization, but I’ll look into it, see if I can dig up the logs. In the meantime, see if the commander has any suggestions. We can remove them if the Angara insist, but I’d hate to lose the advantage they provide.”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

“Good. Anything else?”

 

Andrea hesitates, biting her lip as she weighs the pros and cons of her next question. She hasn’t climbed as high as she has by directly questioning her superiors, but there doesn’t seem to be any way around it. After a few moments pass, Kandros makes the decision for her. 

 

“What’s on your mind, Stanton?”

 

“I...Sir, why am I here? I know my assignment, but what’s the purpose for it? What’s our official stance on the Kett? Is this a precaution, or are we expecting further conflict?”

 

One long finger scratches at his neck as the turian rolls his shoulders in a shrug. “Officially, the Kett are in retreat, and the Nexus is focusing its efforts on building colonies and getting people out of cryo. Unofficially, I like to be prepared for anything.”

 

“I understand. Nothing more, Sir.”

 

“I’ll be expecting your next report.”

 

A sharp salute from her, and the image fades, bathing Andrea in the failing light of her omni-tool and leaving her alone with her troubled thoughts. Kandros’ answer wasn’t quite confirmation of her growing suspicions, but it’s not enough to dispel them, either. She’s heard enough around Headquarters to know the Resistance is expecting the Kett to return, but it seems Nexus leadership - with the possible exception of Kandros - is content to believe the war is over. Something in her gut tells Andrea that that isn’t the case, and that even if she can get all she needs from the Resistance, it won’t help if Director Tann considers her recommendations unnecessary. 

 

A sudden feeling of claustrophobia envelops her, and Andrea is desperate for fresh air. She makes her way out of her shared quarters with no particular destination in mind and nearly runs right into a passing Angara. Glacial eyes meet hers as an apology forms and dies on her tongue. Glaring back at her is an Angara she recognizes all too well from Headquarters. She takes an unwilling step back, echoes of _ vesagara _  ringing in her ears. 

 

To her surprise, it’s not the flash of a blade or the muzzle of a gun that greet her as the man’s features twist into a sneer, but the dull matte of polymer as he thrusts a datapad towards her. 

 

“Evfra says this is yours.”

 

It takes a moment for Andrea to find the proper words, and by the time they leave her lips, the Angara is already leaving.

 

“...Thank you,” she whispers, glancing down at the tablet. By the time she looks up, the Angara is gone, lost to the crowded streets of Aya. She thinks she catches what might be a flash of blue, but it’s gone too soon to be sure, and Andrea is left staring down at the tablet in her hands. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to apologize once again for the delay. I hope to be able to update more frequently in the future, but at this point, it's safer not making any promises. Either way, I've no intention of abandoning this.

Despite her lingering embarrassment, Andrea returns to Headquarters the next day. She has orders, after all, and compared to her main objective, this assignment should be relatively simple. It’s not Evfra’s trust she needs at the moment, but his opinion, and the commander has yet to show hesitance in expressing  _ that _ . 

 

That leaves her in the less than desirable position of playing diplomat and listening to said opinion, of course, but even she has to admit that the problems with the forward stations are the Initiative’s mistake. 

 

Kandros’ review of the logs had proven that some units had taken fire, especially on Voeld, though thanks to what Andrea could only assume was Anagaran intervention, none had sustained considerable damage. While it could be argued that no one intended the stations to be used in guerilla warfare, the attempt at justification feels like yet another reminder of how unprepared they were and still are. 

 

Evfra was right, and no matter how strongly she feels amends should be made, it doesn’t quash the nagging resentment Andrea has at having to be the one to  _ tell  _ him he was right. A petty reluctance, but one felt all the more keenly because of her emotional outburst the other day. It’s not just the Initiative she needs to apologize for, and she knows it. 

 

Drawing in a deep breath, Andrea palms the switch to Evfra’s office, stepping back as the doors slide open with a hydraulic hiss. By the time her gaze lights upon the commander, her features are arranged into a careful mask of calm, though her stomach gives an anxious lurch as she meets the cool blue of his eyes. A handful of heartbeats pass as Evfra returns her stare before his focus shifts to the datapad in her hands - the one returned on his orders, no less - and then, finally, back to the angara still speaking at his side. 

 

Uncertain whether she should feel relief at her momentary reprieve, or disappointment that the most unpleasant part of her task still looms, Andrea crosses to her little table and, keeping one eye on the commander, settles in to work for the day. 

 

As boring as much of her time at Headquarters has been, her impromptu break has left her further behind than her strict work ethic would normally allow. A dozen emails sit unread in her inbox, her notes from Evfra’s uncharacteristic interview have yet to be incorporated into her next report, and the report itself is little more than a tentative first draft. Shaking her head in silent disgust at herself, Andrea spends the next hour going through her backlog of mail.

 

Only a few are of any real import. One is a brief missive from Director Tann authorizing any proposed modifications to the stations. Andrea suspects it’s more to remind them of who’s in charge than any actual interest in the project. There are also copies of the log reports from Foster Addison along with another not-so-subtle reminder that the forward stations do indeed fall under the purview of Colonial Affairs. Wary of stepping on too many toes, Andrea taps out a short but courteous reply to both, promising to keep them updated, and forwards the entire exchange to Kandros. Finished with that, she turns her attention to preparing a more thoughtful response to an inquiry from Governor Shie. 

 

Even sheared to the bare essentials by the translator, Shie’s message carries the hallmark diplomacy of a seasoned politician, and seems to be nothing more than a polite follow up. The governor gives no indication that she’s aware of the conflict between Andrea and Evfra two days ago, and Andrea aims to keep it that way. Years of experience have taught her that while disputes aren’t always avoidable, they’re best settled like reasonable adults whenever possible. Going over Evfra’s head might force his cooperation, but it would be a hollow victory at best. At worst....Andrea has a feeling that if Evfra truly wants her out, no force in Heleus would be able to persuade him otherwise.

 

No. She won’t be defeated so easily, and certainly not by resorting to underhanded tactics. 

 

Her resolve renewed, Andrea sends the message scans the office. She finds the commander near the back of the room, staring out at the window’s panoramic view of Aya’s lush terrain. He’s alone, but knowing that can change at any moment, Andrea decides it’s now or never. The sooner she gets this over with, the sooner she can get back to her real work. 

 

Smoothing the creases from her blue and white Initiative jumpsuit, she heads toward Evfra in long, resolute strides. It’s only when she’s within an arm’s length of the commander that she realizes he hasn’t yet noticed her approach, and sneaking up on Evfra, of all people, is probably not the wisest course of action. Andrea clears her throat to get his attention and the careful speech she has prepared dies on her tongue as she gets a look at Evfra’s face. 

 

She can’t begin to estimate ages among the Angara, but for a moment, Andrea’s certain the commander looks...older.  _ Tired _ . Not the normal weariness brought on by a few restless nights, though she’s certain he’s seen plenty of those, but a bone-deep exhaustion that stems more from the mind than the body. 

 

It’s gone in seconds. The gaze that meets hers is cold and alert, his face once more taking on that timeless quality all angara seem to share. Even his perpetual frown is smoother, the harsh lines that map his features no longer cutting quite so deep. He says nothing, merely arching a brow ridge as he waits for her to speak. 

 

Andrea blinks, suddenly unsure of what she just saw, and masks her uncertainty with ingrained formality. 

 

“Commander. A moment?” As his nose twitches into the beginning of an exasperated scowl, she hurries on. “Kandros pulled the logs for the forward stations and they confirmed your complaints. You were right, Commander. As they are, the stations are more liability than aid, and on behalf of the Initiative, I’d like to extend an apology.” Pausing only long enough to draw another breath, Andrea adds, “And… I’d like to apologize to you personally, as well. My conduct the other day was unacceptable. It won’t be repeated, sir.”

 

Evfra’s stoic nod stirs a pang of guilt in Andrea’s stomach. She’d half expected gloating or smugness. Instead, the man is all business in his reply and Andrea is left with the unsettling feeling she may have misjudged the commander. 

 

“What does the Initiative intend to do about these stations? You can’t expect the Resistance to continue to waste our limited resources in defending them.”

 

“No, sir. Not at all.” Swiping to a map of Voeld on her datapad, Andrea highlights the locations on the forward stations and holds the device out for Evfra’s inspection. “We’ll remove them, if you insist, but with the proper modifications, I’m certain they could still be of tactical value. For both our peoples.”

 

Evfra doesn’t take the offered tablet, but he does lean in to study the screen for a few moments before straightening and crossing his arms over his chest.  “What do you propose?”

 

“I’m afraid I’m not in a position to offer recommendations on this particular matter,” Andrea admits. “My assignment doesn’t provide much in the way of field experience, but Kandros is open to any suggestions you or your soldiers might have, and Director Tann has already agreed to authorize any necessary changes.”

 

Evfra grunts at that, managing to convey far more doubt than a single syllable ought to be capable of carrying. “You truly believe it will be that simple?”

 

“Normally, I’d say no,” Andrea doesn’t hesitate to reply. 

 

Though she wasn’t awake during the uprising or the subsequent fallout, she’s more than aware of the tension among Initiative brass - and the jockeying for authority that comes with it. There’s no escaping it entirely, even though technically she gets her orders directly from Kandros. 

 

“But with this, I think it will. Modifying the stations is a small price to pay, especially if we can keep them in their current locations. The bottom line, sir, is that the Initiative  _ needs  _ this alliance to work.”

 

“So I hear,” Evfra responds dryly. 

 

He jerks his head in what Andrea assumes is an indication to follow and starts walking toward a pair of angara. Both have their heads bent as they talk quietly amongst themselves, and as she gets closer, Andrea can make out the sound of muffled laughter. Evfra catches it too, if the disapproving pull of his mouth is anything to go by. 

 

“Ival. Xaalen.”

 

With a little jump, both women separate to stand at their full heights and face the commander, wearing identical expressions that Andrea has no trouble reading as sheepish guilt.

 

“If you’ve got time for conversation, I’ll assume your intel report is ready and waiting for me.”

 

“Of course, Evfra,” one of the women hastens to assure, a deep purple flushing her lavender skin. 

 

“Good. Then we can put your communication... _ skills _ to better use.” Leveling a flat look at the other woman, Evfra adds, “Since you’re free, Ival, help Ajad with the latest batch of encryptions. With both of you on them, I don’t expect any further delays.”

 

“Yes, Evfra.”

 

As the angara scurries away to follow her orders, Evfra waves the other forward. “The Initiative has expressed an interest in making their forward stations less of a liability. Coordinate with Commander Do Xeel and make sure their analyst gets what she needs. As long as the Nexus is willing to see reason, they’ll have our full cooperation.”

 

That said, Evfra returns to his desk without so much as a backward glance, leaving the two eying each other warily. Biting back a sigh, Andrea extends her hand in greeting. If they’re going to do more than just stand around and stare, it seems she’ll need to make the first move. 

 

“I’m Andrea. Andrea Stanton. Logistics Analyst for the Andromeda Initiative.”

 

“Xaalen era Tov,” the angara replies, casting a puzzled look at Andrea’s outstretched hand. “Resistance Communications Specialist.”

 

Casually dropping her hand to her side, Andrea offers a small smile. “A pleasure to meet you.” 

 

The angara says nothing, but her narrowed eyes and pinched mouth leave her looking anything but pleased with their meeting. Andrea’s stomach sinks; already off to a bad start, and try as she might, she cannot fathom why. 

 

With the exception of Paaran Shie, all of her encounters with the angara thus far have went in a similar manner. She’s made every effort to be a model guest over the last several weeks, and it’s won her nothing, least of all their trust. It would be easy to chalk Evfra up to...well,  _ Evfra _ , and the rest of the Resistance as simply following suit, but her limited interactions with those angara outside the Resistance have went much the same. The only common denominator is  _ her _ , but Andrea has yet to decipher exactly what about her seems to be causing such friction. 

 

Pushing her troubled thoughts to the side to be pondered over later, Andrea forces another smile and says brightly, “Well, then. I suppose we should get to work.”

  
  
  


 

 

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

Even from his distance at the other side of the room, Xaalen’s irritation is obvious. Evfra knows she will not thank him for pairing her with the human, but she won’t openly complain, either. She’ll do her job, and as much grief as he might give her over her less desirable habits, she’ll do it well. Xaalen’s talent for languages and her love of employing them make her ideal for her position within the Resistance, but it’s her temperament that he’ll make use of for this particular task. For all her current posturing, few can match Xaalen’s patience, and her loyalty to Evfra is unquestioned. If there’s anyone he can trust to avoid stirring up trouble with the human, it’s her. 

 

Turning his gaze to the analyst, Evfra can privately admit he’s impressed. Not with the Nexus leadership, though it’s a minor relief to have one less thing for his fighters to worry about, but with  _ her _ . As the human readily admitted, this gesture with the stations costs them little if it means keeping the alliance intact. They are ultimately serving themselves. That the angara might benefit is just a consequence, but Evfra suspects even that small token is due to the human’s intercession. To admit to an error is one thing; to actively take steps to correct it, quite another. 

 

He hadn’t expected an apology, either. In truth, he hadn’t considered one necessary, but he can appreciate the significance. The human is proud, like others of the Initiative species. Unlike the others, she’s one of the few he’s witnessed willing to swallow that pride for the sake of the common good. Perhaps there’s hope for this alliance yet.

 

Or, perhaps this foolish trust for the Initiative that seems to have infected Aya is catching.  

 

Evfra’s gaze darkens as it falls on a datapad; discarded, but it’s contents far from forgotten. He’s tried. 

 

The report is little more than rumor so far, but according to his contacts on Kadara, several angara have gone missing. Try as he might, Evfra hasn’t found anything to substantiate the claim - or counter it. It serves no one to jump to conclusions, but that sound bit of logic can’t override the years of experience that tell him to trust his instincts. 

 

And every fiber is screaming that  _ something  _ is wrong. 

 

It could be the Initiative’s exiles, and though a sharp flare of anger coils in his chest at the thought, part of Evfra hopes it is. The alternative....

 

The report mentions no names, no families. The alleged victims are deserters and outlaws, no better than the exiles themselves. Despite Kadara’s change in leadership, the mountains and caves are still rife with gang violence. Casualties are to be expected, as his contacts were quick to point out.

 

Too quick, perhaps, but laying blame at the feet of the Milky Way species doesn’t sit well with him. It’s too neat, too  _ easy _ , and exactly the sort of tactics an enemy might use to divide an alliance still in its infancy. Tactics Evfra knows intimately, and has grudgingly learned to respect. 

 

His gut tells him these are more than rumors. Worse, he knows exactly who is responsible, but without more proof, there’s little he can do but wait. It’s a maddening position to find himself in, and for a brief moment, Evfra almost wishes for the days of open war. At least then, he had a target, something to do. Even when the Resistance was losing, they were  _ fighting _ . He won’t deny that his people were desperately in need of respite, but hope and morale are such fragile things. So difficult to build, and yet so easy to topple. 

 

His teeth clenched so hard his jaw aches, Evfra draws in a sharp breath through his nose and slowly releases it. He knew this day was coming, and as far as he’s concerned, it’s arrived. If evidence comes to light that he’s wrong, he’ll happily say so - in front of all of Aya, if necessary. In the meantime, he’ll prepare. If the Kett are covertly trying to rebuild their ranks, they’ll target more than Kadara, more than angara. If there’s a pattern, he’ll find it. 

 

After everything his people have given, everything they’ve  _ sacrificed _ , Evfra will not allow the Kett to have Heleus. 

  
  
  
  


 

 

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

It’s been a long day, but Andrea gathers her things and prepares to leave headquarters for the night with a sense of accomplishment she hasn’t felt since waking up in another galaxy. With Xaalen’s help, she’s compiled a list of recommendations to present to Kandros. She still has to weed through some of the more outlandish suggestions - she can’t see Tann approving the installation of laser turrets, for example - but many are sound, and if they can’t be used for the stations themselves, they can be adapted for colony defense. As far as collaborations go, this one was a surprising success, and Andrea is hoping to repeat the experience in her future exchanges with the Resistance. 

 

“Thank you for your help,” she says, giving Xaalen a sincere smile. “I truly appreciate it.”

 

The angaran woman twitches her shoulders in what resembles a human shrug. “Thank Evfra. I was only following orders.”

 

Technically true, but once they’d gotten past the awkwardness of their initial meeting, Xaalen had proven to be rather pleasant company. Despite displaying a candor that at times borders on bluntness, the angara possesses a keen mind and an insatiable curiosity. 

 

Her questions had been hesitant at first, but once she saw that the exchange of information was mutual, her cool demeanor had warmed considerably. Several of the most promising proposals were hers, including an algorithm that would make the stations’ frequencies far more difficult to hack. In exchange, Andrea had given her a copy of her omni-tool’s personal VI. Though Andrea had originally designed the program for administrative tasks, Xaalen was certain she could modify it to aid in decrypting incoming intel. 

 

“Even so,” Andrea insists. “Thank you.”

 

Xaalen shuffles a bit, looking vaguely uncomfortable, and mumbles, “If you say so.  _ Isharay _ , human.”

 

Andrea catches a quick quirk of her lips as the woman turns to go and belatedly raises her hand in a gesture of farewell that goes unnoticed. Not quite the parting she’d hoped for, but still progress, all around. It leaves her feeling more optimistic about her remaining time in headquarters. 

 

Noticing the low set of the sun, Andrea grabs her datapad, and her eyes are involuntarily drawn to where Evfra sits, hunched in front of his terminal. She still wonders why he had it returned to her. They’re nearly alone, and it would be the perfect time to ask, but a memory of him earlier, his face lined and worn with the strain of a burden she can’t even begin to imagine, stops her. However burning her curiosity, it can wait. 

 

She heads for the doors and on impulse, calls, “Goodnight Commander,” over her shoulder. If Evfra gives any response, she doesn’t wait to hear it. 


	6. Chapter 6

Another couple of weeks has passed on Aya, and Xaalen has become a familiar face at Headquarters. It feels too soon to call them friends, but she’s one of the few Angara that goes out of her way to acknowledge and talk with Andrea without being prompted. The others are still hesitant, preferring to ignore her unless directly approached, but Xaalen’s open acceptance of her presence - and Evfra’s tolerance of it - seems to have went a long way in improving relations with the Resistance. They won’t be sharing drinks at the Tavetaan anytime soon, but Andrea no longer feels the weight of a dozen suspicious stares following her about, either. 

 

Even Evfra’s constant vigilance seems less severe, though Andrea suspects at least part of the reason for that is because something else has the commander distracted. She’s not the only one to notice, of course; Evfra’s own know him better than she ever could. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say, then, that the tension level at Headquarters hasn’t changed so much as  _ shifted _ . She’s no longer their biggest concern. 

 

The realization is troubling, especially considering Andrea’s initial reception, but she resists the urge to probe for details. They aren’t many scenarios she can think of that would push concerns over the new species in the galaxy to the back burner, and those she can all highlight the importance of finishing her assignment. The Initiative can’t afford to face whatever looms on the horizon unprepared because she pushed for too much, too soon. 

 

“Your Initiative’s already modified some of the stations on Voeld.”

 

Xaalen’s voice breaks into Andrea’s thoughts, and she looks up to see the Angara wander over. She waves a datapad as though for emphasis, and adds, “Not all, but the ones closest to our bases. Most of us weren’t expecting that much.”

 

Choosing to ignore the last part of Xaalen’s statement, Andrea tilts her head in a courteous nod. “I’m glad. I hope it makes things easier for your soldiers.”

 

“They don’t have to worry about having their allies’ munitions turned on them, at least,” Xaalen replies. “Might even start making use of them, but that’s for Commander Do Xeel to decide.”

 

“It’s what they’re there for.”

 

“Like I said, not my call.”

 

Xaalen rolls one shoulder in dismissal and produces a tube of nutrient paste from one of the pockets of her tactical suit, absently bringing it to her mouth. Though she tries not to let her distaste show, Andrea can’t help the twitch of her nose as the sickly- sweet odor of overripe fruit wafts toward her. It seems she wasn’t as discreet as she thought because Xaalen laughs. 

 

“I forgot you don't like it.’

 

Andrea’s tried the angaran staple exactly once, and while she’ll admit it would probably prevent starvation, there’s little else she can say for it. 

 

“I don’t mind,” Andrea says, shaking her head. 

 

“Are all humans so bad at lying, or is it just you?” Xaalen laughs, continuing to eat her paste. 

 

“Pardon?” Andrea asks cautiously. That sounded like a trick question if ever she’s heard one. And she hadn’t  _ lied _ . Not precisely. She was simply being polite. 

 

“You try so hard to sweeten your words they barely resemble the truth,” the angara remarks, eerily echoing Andrea’s own line of reasoning. “Is that something all humans do, or is it just you?”

 

At a sudden and uncomfortable loss for words, Andrea sputters, “I - we don’t - it’s not lying.” 

 

“No?” Xaalen offers the tube of paste, teeth glinting in a wicked grin. “Then have some. You must be hungry - I never see you eat in here.”

 

She might have  _ been  _ hungry - it’s approaching midday, after all - but that was before Xaalen brought over that revolting paste. Any appetite she had is fading fast.

 

“No, thank you.”  She holds Xaalen’s gaze for a few moments and then sighs when the angaran woman cocks her head, a knowing smile plastered on her face. “Fine,” Andrea mutters, throwing up a hand in defeat. “I hate the stuff. It tastes like mash from a jail cell distillery and the texture makes me want to gag.”

 

“There now, see? Much better.”

 

Andrea sniffs. “If by ‘better’ you mean rude, unprofessional, and lacking any sense of tact, certainly.”

 

The smug satisfaction lighting Xaalen’s face fades as a bemused crease forms between her brow ridges. “Why do you consider it rude to speak the truth?”

 

Blinking in surprise, Andrea opens her mouth, and then promptly snaps it shut as she realizes she has no idea how to respond. Drawing in a breath, she wets her lips and tries again. “It isn’t necessarily that telling the truth is rude, it’s just...some ways of saying it are kinder than others.”

 

“You said you didn’t mind the paste,” Xaalen points out. “That isn’t kinder, that’s completely false.”

 

Yes, she had said that, though technically what Andrea had meant was that there was no reason for Xaalen to stop eating for her sake. It was an automatic response meant as a courtesy, but when viewed from Xaalen’s perspective, it carried none of the respect she’d intended. She’d practically insulted her intelligence! How often had she done the same with other anagara? 

 

“I didn’t want to offend you,” Andrea offers lamely. It’s a rather poor explanation, and she knows it, but what else can she say? Humans exchange empty pleasantries all the time, whether they mean them or not, and call it good manners. 

 

“Your food tastes like sand,” Xaalen smirks. “Are you offended?”

 

Andrea shakes her head. “No, of course not. But surely the angara don’t say the first thing that comes to mind in every situation?”

 

Leaning in, Xaalen grins and whispers, “You  _ have  _ met Evfra, haven’t you?” Louder, she continues,  “My people communicate differently than yours. We are more open, I think. Freer in expressing our emotions. As such, we don’t rely on words alone. Body language and bioelectricity provide emotional context that speech can’t. Even if we wanted to hide something, many would find it difficult to do so. Better to just get to the point and say what you mean.”

 

The cause of Andrea’s difficulty when interacting with the Angara is suddenly glaringly obvious. What she thinks is respectful conduct is coming across as meaningless filler, or worse, an attempt at deception. And in some cases, rightfully so. 

 

“I see. In the future, I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Xaalen.”

 

The angara eyes Andrea in open curiosity. “If this is how your people communicate, how do you manage? How do you ever know what anyone is saying?”

 

“I’m probably not the best example, or the one to explain. We have courtesies and customs that are observed as a way of showing respect, especially in formal settings like the military, but most conversations are more relaxed. There’s still etiquette, of course - that’s a kind of code for social conduct - but it depends on the group you’re with, one's status and profession...I suppose it  _ is  _ rather confusing,” Andrea admits. “And most of it pointless now that we’re here. But…”

 

“But it’s  _ yours _ ,” Xaalen finishes softly, sympathy brimming in her large, crystalline eyes. “I understand. The language of my true mother died with her and her  _ daar  _ many years ago,” she says, looking away. “I still speak it sometimes, because it brings me comfort to imagine her voice.” 

 

Andrea struggles for something to say, but all the words that come to mind feel like empty platitudes. There is comfort in clinging to the familiarity of protocol and decorum, even though the Alliance and her place in it no longer exists. Still, it isn’t quite the same. She made a choice to leave all that behind. The Angara had it taken. Calling one the equivalent of the other seems wrong. 

 

Xaalen saves her from responding by lifting a hand for quiet, the other going to her comm piece. After a few seconds she nods, sending Andrea an apologetic look. “I need to go. You will tell me more of your ship later? And these ‘arks’?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Good. Stay clear, hu- Andrea.”

 

As her tongue rolls hesitantly over the  _ r _ , Andrea realizes it’s the first time someone in the Resistance has used her name. Such a small thing to get excited over, but it leaves her with a warmth in her chest as she finishes the rest of her day. 

  
  
  


 

* * *

  
  
  
  
  


The Angara are creatures that flourish in sunlight, and over the last few days, Evfra has felt it’s lack. It’s in the fatigue that’s beginning to creep in, dulling his senses like a drifting fog, and the persistent tickle at the back of his throat. Nothing that can’t be corrected with a couple hours outdoors, but inconvenient all the same.  He'd rather be combing Resistance feeds and planning a preemptive strike against the Kett. The first fingers of dawn are just beginning to creep over the horizon, and he has at least a solid hour before he'll be interrupted by the rest of his men reporting in. Yet even he has to admit a full-scale invasion isn’t likely to happen in that short span of time, so when Evfra arrives at Headquarters, he keeps walking.  He  _ must  _ be ready for whatever is coming, and right now, that means tending to his own needs, regardless of the inner voice that demands he stop wasting time and get to work. 

 

He wasn’t planning on visiting the Memorial Gardens.

 

There was no set destination in mind, but it’s still something of a shock to find himself suddenly surrounded by crawling vines and verdant leaves. Vibrant blooms of all shapes and sizes provide splashes of color and scent the humid air with a delicate perfume not found anywhere else in Heleus. Here and there, exotic birds and insects dart amongst the lush foliage, blissfully unaware that they’re the last of their kind. 

 

Evfra watches them for a few minutes and almost envies their ignorance. How brightly their small world must shine when they’ve no idea of the ruins that lay beyond, the sheer magnitude of all that was lost. 

 

The gardens are meant to stand as a testament to all that was  _ saved  _ from the Kett, all that might one day begin anew, but Evfra is in no mind to see them in such a hopeful light. His people and their lives - their very beings - are forever changed. Perhaps they can move forward and in time, rise to new heights, but he sees no use in trying to revive the past. Even if that business with Taavos lends some credence to reincarnation, Evfra has no family left for anyone to return to; not in this cycle, or any after. They are gone, and no amount of hope, however heartfelt, is going to change that. 

 

Turning to go anywhere but here, Evfra’s eyes narrow as his gaze falls on a familiar, hated face. 

 

_ Vehn Terev.  _

 

Had Moshae Sjefa let him have his way, the traitor would be rotting in a cell. Instead, Terev roams free as any citizen, not a guard in sight as he putters about the gardens.

 

He’d been pure indignance when the Moshae handed down her sentence, claiming he preferred imprisonment to slavery. Evfra was more than happy to oblige, but even with the ingrate spitting in the face of her mercy, Sjefa would not be swayed. 

 

_ “He’s seen enough violence and death, Evfra. Let him see what it’s like to nurture and grow - to serve others instead of fight them.” _

 

His features twist into a reflexive sneer at the memory. Terev became an enemy the moment he betrayed the Moshae, and by extension, the Angara. The traitor deserves none of Sjefa’s compassion. Yet the longer Evfra watches, the more he begins to question if compassion was the only factor that motivated her decision. 

 

Unaware that he’s being observed, Terev’s expression lacks the defiance and pride Evfra is so used to seeing. He’s loathe to go so far as calling him a man humbled, but there is a slowness to his motions, a deliberate caution to his steps that the commander admits was never there before. 

 

Few angara visit the gardens this early in the morning, but those that do know Terev on sight. None acknowledge him. Evfra can see the brief flicker of recognition that flares in their eyes and quickly goes cold. So does Terev. He’s less than a pariah; he might as well be a ghost. 

 

When the gardens clear, Terev briefly closes his eyes, head bowed so low his chin nearly touches his chest. One hand reaches out to touch the smooth surface of the plaque that commemorates the gardens and all they stand for, and Evfra is certain he does not imagine the tremor that goes through Terev as he traces the carved script with a shaking finger. 

 

Perhaps the Moshae is not as merciful as he thought. Evfra would never call her naive, but her choice to spare Terev always struck him as misguided. Now, he wonders.   

 

Here, even a traitor still has use. Here, he’s surrounded by a constant reminder of everything the Angara have lost, living examples of the devastation he nearly helped bring about. 

 

One day, his crimes might be forgiven. Memories will fade, and many will forget. But not Terev. Evfra hopes the coward’s memories of his betrayal stay as bright and poignant as the gardens he tends. 

 

As if he can feel Evfra’s eyes on him, Terev looks over, gaze locking with the commander’s. His face shutters and hardens, his jaw so tense Evfra can see the muscles twitch. Neither man says a word, but the thrum of bioelectricity is palpable. Terev is the first to look away, and Evfra nearly smirks in perverse satisfaction until he sees why. 

 

They’re no longer alone; the human, of all people, has joined them. While Evfra can’t say with any certainty how long she’s been there, her wide, mossy eyes as she glances between the two of them indicate it was long enough. 

 

With one last scowl aimed in Evfra’s direction, Terev acknowledges the human with a perfunctory nod and moves to the far end of the gardens to resume his work. He doesn’t look back. 

 

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” the human says without looking at him. 

 

“As Paaran has no doubt informed you, Aya is open to you. You’re free to go where you please.”

 

She nods, rubbing her hands briskly over her arms, and Evfra curiously notes that the tanned flesh is covered in fine bumps. He’s heard of humans having a similar response to cold, but even in it’s coolest season, Aya’s weather remains temperate. Perhaps it’s the residual charge from his silent altercation with Terev she’s reacting to.

 

“I know, but still. Whatever that was was none of my business.”

 

“No,” Evfra grunts in agreement. “It isn’t.” Sensing her stiffen, he adds, “But you did no harm,” telling himself it’s only to forestall any further apologies. 

 

Her shoulders relaxing a fraction, the human nods at the array of wild blooms. “They’re lovely. I try to come by every morning when I can. It’s...peaceful here.”

 

It’s not the word Evfra would use to describe them, but without knowing the gardens’ significance, he can see why she’d think so. There’s a quiet here, however melancholy; a stillness that lends the illusion of privacy amidst Aya’s busy streets. He wonders what drives the human to seek such refuge, and dismisses the thought as quickly as it forms. That’s none of  _ his  _ business. 

 

“Do you have nothing similar on your Nexus?”

 

The human shakes her head, a small smile forming on her lips. “Not quite, no. The plants we grow are chosen for their function - food, oxygen - we can’t afford to waste hydroponics resources on aesthetics.”

 

She’s quiet for several moments, long enough that Evfra begins to feel like  _ he  _ might be the one intruding, but just as he turns to leave her to her thoughts, she speaks again, so softly it takes his translator a few seconds to pick up her words. 

 

“There were gardens like this on the Presidium. We didn’t dock very often, but I always visited when there was time. It’s funny. Growing up I always took plants for granted, but there’s not much room for greenery on a warship. Gives you a whole new appreciation, I guess.” 

 

She lifts a hand and then let’s it fall with a sigh. “Of course, that was six hundred years ago. For all I know, the Citadel and everything on it is dust by now.”

 

Her expression grows wistful and Evfra needs no help from software to decipher the note of longing in her voice. It’s like nothing he’s come to expect from her, and against his will, his curiosity is once again peaked. Such a strange creature, this human. The moment he thinks he has a read on her, she shows another facet of herself that has him revising everything he thought he knew. It’s infuriating!

 

“Then why leave it behind?” Evfra asks, puzzled irritation sharpening his tone. These aliens made their choice. Why wallow in regret now that it’s done?

 

A bitter laugh tumbles from the human’s lips, and Evfra can’t quell the feeling that he’s seeing something not meant for him when she meets his eyes. “I had nothing to lose. Not really.”

 

A wave of ice washes through Evfra’s stomach, leaving an unwelcome pang of sympathy in its wake. He’d been expecting the same flippant response others of her kind so often give: a love of adventure, or the thrill of exploring the unknown. Instead, her words mirror those he once gave Ryder when she asked how he came to lead the Resistance. 

 

_ “Nothing left to lose…” _

 

“I... understand.”

 

It’s not an apology, or even an admission of how badly he’s misjudged her, but it’s all Evfra can manage to force past the sudden tightness in his throat. 

 

A silent question flashes in the human’s eyes, but mercifully, she remains silent and turns her gaze back towards the gardens. 

 

Evfra thinks that will be the end of it, but his relief is short-lived as she reaches out and lays a hand on his arm. Her touch is tentative, her face flushing that alarming shade of red as Evfra glances down. He barely has time to note how small her hands are compared to his when she withdraws and bites her bottom lip. 

 

“I never thanked you,” she says, tapping her datapad in illustration. “You didn’t have to go out of your way to return it.”

 

“Kajad returned it,” Evfra answers gruffly. Her gratitude is misplaced. His reasons had little to do with her personally. 

 

“I doubt he did so out of the kindness of his heart,” she retorts, tone dry. “He made his opinion of me abundantly clear.” 

 

Evfra’s gaze sharpens at that, and the human realizes her mistake. Her mouth snaps shut, lips pressing into a stubborn line. Even now, she refuses to admit who was giving her trouble.

 

“I already suspected he was the one adding to your vocabulary,” the commander sighs. “Though it would have been much easier if you’d simply told me in the first place.”

 

With a snort, the human shakes her head. “We might be completely different species, but I can’t imagine your people would find me tattling to their superiors any more endearing than mine. Why cause more resentment?”

 

“Your exiles beat Kajad’s brother to death in the streets of Kadara. I don’t think ‘resentment’ is the appropriate word.”

 

She pales at that and swallows. “No, I suppose not.” Tilting her head up at him, her eyes narrow in accusation. “If you knew, why send him after me?”

 

“I said I  _ suspected _ ,” Evfra corrects. “I had to be sure. Now I am. Whatever his feelings, Kajad will not harm you.”

 

“You bastard! You used me as bait.”

 

Evfra doesn’t bother to deny the accusation. She’s right and he’ll make no apology for it. “You weren’t in any real danger.”

 

“Because you followed him,” she says so softly Evfra doubts he was meant to hear. “I thought I saw you that night, but I wasn’t sure. Still, you should have told me,” she finishes, her voice rising in anger once more. “If you even  _ thought  _ I was in danger, I had a right to know.”

 

“You  _ weren’t _ .” Crossing his arms over his chest, Evfra glares right back at the human. “Even if Kajad had tried, I wouldn’t have allowed it. Next time, cooperate when I ask. You might find I’m more willing to return the favor.”

 

Her hands slowly relax from their tights fists, and the bright splotches of color fade from her cheeks as she draws a long breath in through her nose. “Do you think there’ll be a next time?”

 

“Not if you continue as you have. Keep your promises and I’ll keep mine. You’re welcome at Headquarters as long as you do.”

 

“I can do that.”

 

“Good.”


End file.
